Pleasure and Pain
by Maijajo
Summary: My first attempt at some smut. DL, Danny angst. Post season finale.


_**Disclaimer**__: I don't own these people. _

_**Author's Note:**__ I can't seem to finish "Forgive me," but this plot bunny has been begging to get out. My version of smut with some Danny angst. DL for sure. Rated M, I suppose. Please R&R._

**Pleasure and Pain**

Darvocet. Vicodin. Oxycotin. Even damn Motrin 800s. They all made him sick. Puking, woozy, the whole nine yards.

The past days of Danny Messer's life were spent pondering one question: Which was worse: The pain from his hand that made each day an aching misery, or the nausea and foggy head that made him feel like a pregnant woman on Prozac?

Oh, there was more fun to be had. In order to return to work, he had to endure hours of physical therapy for his hand – and let's face it, everyone knew his fingers would never quite be the same. Sometimes Danny thought it would be better if they were numb altogether, but then he couldn't do his job.

And people were definitely getting to him. Adam couldn't seem to stop apologizing. Every time Danny turned around, he was stopping by with a pizza, beer, DVDs he'd rented – all peace offerings that weren't necessary. He didn't blame Adam for what happened, which is why he found himself annoyed with the guy.

Most of the times Danny just wanted to punch his fist through a wall. Except, that would be stupid, since then he would have to learn to open a soda can with his toes. Not fun.

And Lindsay. Most of all Lindsay. He couldn't argue that she wasn't there … she was. Holding his hand as he tried to psych himself up for the agony of PT, wiping his mouth when he tossed his cookies. But she wasn't there the way he wanted her to be.

Since the hostage crisis, she was tense and riddled with guilt, no matter what anyone told her. As a result, she was guarded with Danny. Kind, understanding, gentle and helpful. And it pissed him off. He had worked for months to build her trust. Replacing each brick of tension and fear with his own concoction of dependability and warmth. That night, when passion finally came to fruition, they had laid in each other's arms and she was open to him. Finally.

Then the shit hit the fan and Lindsay's guilt had built up a new wall. She was afraid to touch him, like he was some kind of baby she thought she would injure. They hadn't made love, she just hung around like a good friend. Or a sister.

Danny already had a sister, and she was a pain in ass. He wanted his Lindsay back.

He gazed at his hand, which looked somewhat withered. He remembered the day they finally took the heavy cast off as one of the few truly happy moments in the weeks following the crushing blows it received. Now he just had to wear a pressure cast a few hours a day. It still didn't move that well, but it felt good just having air exposed to it. It hurt like hell, still. Not the jabbing pains that woke him screaming from a deep sleep, but a dull ache that plagued every moment. And left him royally pissed off.

He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening. Lindsay was home, letting herself in with the key he'd given her - she had taken care of him after the surgery on his hand. Danny refused to stay in the hospital.

"Hey. I stopped and got a pizza. You hungry?" She greeted him with that super-sweet smile that drove him nuts. He missed the sarcastic little grins when she was teasing him, and the bright smiles of happiness as they left Montana, the final shackles of her past removed. These sickeningly sweet things grated at his nerves. In fact, everything did.

"No. You know what? I'm not fucking hungry."

Lindsay stopped, a wary expression on her face. Danny had surly down pat these days, but there was something different in his eyes. She proceeded with caution. "Oooookay. Well, I'll just have some. Want a Coke? A beer if you haven't taken your pain meds."

That fucking smile was back. _Dammit_. "I don't want a goddamn Coke. And I want you to stop smiling at me." He saw a flash of anger in her eyes, then fade. Good, he thought, needing a fight. I'm getting somewhere.

"No smiles. Done. Look, Danny, if you want some time to yourself, I understand. I'll just leave the pizza and head home."

"Will you stop being so NICE???? What are you, some goddamn Florence Fucking Nightengale???" He was shouting, and it felt damn good.

Before she could stop herself, Lindsay found herself shouting back. "I'm just trying to help you! What is your problem!!! I didn't come here to have you yell at me, you ungrateful prick!"

She stopped herself, pressing a hand to here heaving chest. _Crap, I wasn't going to let him bait me_. "I'm sorry, Danny. You obviously need to be alone."

"Alone? You think I need to be alone? What do you think I've been since this shit happened?" He thrust his injured hand in the air for emphasis. "Everyone fluttering around me. 'You okay, Danny?' 'Can I get you something, Danny?' But no one wants to talk. They just want to 'help.' Poor Danny. And you! I didn't expect it from you!"

"What did you expect, Danny? I wanted to be here for you, take care of you. I owe you – you shouldn't have even been there that day."

"Ah. Here we go. The real reason for all this crap," Danny said sarcastically.

"What are you talking about?" Despite her best efforts, Lindsay was pissed.

"Lindsay Monroe, angst queen, had nothing to feel guilty about anymore. Well, lady, now you got me, and a fine little pity party to mope around in. Glad I could be of service."

SLAP! Before she could stop herself, she sent her hand stinging off of his cheek. Surprisingly, this did not assuage her anger. "Fuck you!" She stalked toward the door and Danny followed her.

"You know what I think, Monroe? I think you like being miserable. I think – "

"I don't care what you think anymore Messer. Hire a nurse or maid, I'm done here. We're done talking. I'm – "

But he wasn't listening anymore. As he watched her brown eyes flare with righteous anger, Danny felt, for the first time in weeks, something other than pain. He felt desire. He reached out, grabbing a handful of hair with his good hand, and pulled her roughly to him. "You're right," he growled. "We're done talking."

Weeks of anger, pain and frustration were poured into that kiss. In the far reaches of her mind, Lindsay couldn't help but wonder if her lips were scorched. Residual anger had her struggling briefly – it as amazing the strength he had in one arm – but soon felt herself responding. Even wounded, Danny Messer knew how to kiss.

Their lips battled for dominance as they thumped back against the door of his apartment. Tongues dueled as they sank to the floor, collapsing in a lusty heap. Danny landed on his butt, Lindsay straddled on top. Feeling his arousal, she felt her own threaten to overtake her. "Danny," she breathed, trying to inject some logic. "Maybe we …"

"Shut up, Montana," he growled, reclaiming her lips savagely.

Any protests were consumed off her lips as Danny pulled impatiently at her shirt. Now losing herself in sensation and longing, she helped him, ripping a few buttons off in the process. Once both shirts had been disposed off, she fell on top of him, gasping in shock at the sheer heat emanating from his skin. "God, Danny."

He didn't give any indication that he heard her, so focused he was on taking her right there on the scarred wood floor. The heat was getting to Lindsay, and she impatiently assisted frantic efforts by Danny to free her from her jeans. He scrabbled underneath her, removing his own shorts.

Before Lindsay could catch a breath he pulled her down, burying himself inside her. Her breath was lost – she simply could not breathe through the sensation of him, hot and needy and burning her up from the inside out. They moved together roughly, Danny groaning incoherently as she tensed her hips on his, her own fevered lips finding his neck, her nails raking down his back.

For the first time since his hand had been smashed – along, seemingly, with his life – Danny felt alive. He fell back onto the floor, arching in excruciating sensation as Lindsay rose above him, taking over. Finally, when it didn't seem he could take anymore he pulled her down on top of him, using his good arm to roll her beneath him, putting all the anger and frustration into each movement, each thrust, as both of them screamed in release.

He finally collapsed, sweaty and out of breath. "Jesus."

Lindsay herself felt barely able to move, but managed to shift Danny onto his back. She settled awkwardly onto his chest. An odd sound came from his lips, something like a moan of what sounded like her name.

"Danny? Are you okay? I'm –"

"If you say I'm sorry, I'm really going to have to kick your ass."

Lindsay rose to look at him and opened her mouth to speak, but Danny silenced her with a shake of his head. He was captivated by her at that moment – all flushed cheeks, fevered breath and sweaty hair. "I needed that, Linds. I needed you. I needed the fire in your eyes. I needed us."

Her eyes filled. At that second, she finally realized what all of her pampering and cajoling had done – it had made Danny feel like less of a man, an invalid. "I just – I didn't want you to be in pain. I thought you needed –"

"I needed you. C'mere." The anger gone, the pain pushed to a corner of his mind and locked away, Danny closed his eyes in relief. Lindsay finally settled down, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart – strong, steady, sometimes rough, but always noble. He's asleep, she thought, her own eyes drooping.

But a soft whisper had them snapping open again. "I love you, Lindsay."

A tear found its way down her cheek, and Danny felt its wetness on his chest. Her voice uneven, she managed, "I love you, too."

And there, on the hard wooden floor, two of New York's finest faded into a deep peaceful slumber.

**THE END**


End file.
